


The Art of Pretending

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Multi, also they fuck up a lot, like a band band not a boyband band, theyre in a band
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:51:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Playing music, being in a successful band, having tons of adoring fans and money to spare—it's all he ever wanted, Zayn tells himself. As if repeating the thought over and over again would somehow hide the fact that his friendships were falling apart and everything was going wrong and he was left feeling emptier than ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Pretending

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own One Direction etc, etc. Also, the way any character is described in the story does not represent my personal feelings towards them. Cool? Cool. Hope you enjoy reading.

Zayn Malik jerks awake suddenly as the van jumps, hitting another bump in the road. He groans and rubs his head. His entire body is sore; falling asleep sitting down is a pain in the ass—literally. His ass, spine, and neck all ache from sleeping in the cramped confines of their touring van.

            “You alright?” Liam asks from the driver’s seat, glancing at Zayn before returning to the road. His eyes are red around the edges and Zayn feels guilty. He’d volunteer to drive more, but he’s shit at staying inside the lines. It’s better for both of them if he’s not driving, really.

            “Yeah.”

            The black-haired boy yawns and looks out at the road. It’s cloudy and not very sunny—midafternoon probably. The dashboard clock reads 5:02. Fuck. He’s been asleep for five hours. Liam was supposed to switch shifts with him two hours ago. “I can take over, if you want,” Zayn offers, but he’s not insisting.

            Liam laughs. He says, “I’ve got it,” like Zayn expects him to and the black-haired boy nods, his conscience quieted. Zayn might complain about his aching limbs, but all he’s been doing is sleeping. He bets Liam’s eyes are starting to dry. His arms probably ache from resting on the steering wheel.

            The road outside is endless highway and painted dashed lines. It’s already starting to blur together. Are they still in Pennsylvania, or have they crossed over to Maryland yet? Or are they in Virginia now? They should paint the roads a different color in every state, Zayn muses. Otherwise, it’s all just grey, grey asphalt.

            Yeah, he’s fucking bored out of his mind. They had started driving the day before and within a few hours, Zayn and Liam had exhausted every conversation topic between them. The consequences of putting the two most reserved people together, Zayn supposes. He wonders how the rest of the band is handling the road trip. Louis and Harry are driving behind them in another van full of all their instruments and equipment while Liam and Zayn’s has their personal belongings. Not much more than a few changes of clothes and their toothbrushes, but Zayn prefers it that way. It’s a nice feeling and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this light.

            He bets the other van is filled with drowsy jokes and loud bursts of laughter. Louis probably has a lot to do with that. He can crack ten jokes in the time it takes Zayn to finish laughing about one. Or maybe it’s quiet there too. Maybe Harry and Louis are still just as surprised as Zayn and Liam are.

            They did it. They actually fucking did it. They had turned One Direction, some project that started in Liam’s parents’ basement, into an actual fucking band. They had landed a supporting slot on The Functions’ countrywide tour and they were about to start  _touring_  for real. Five months ago, they were playing at local clubs. Now, they were getting hype online and their name was being pasted on tour posters and concert tickets. People knew who they were, heard their songs. They’d made it.

            Well, not quite, Zayn decides. They won’t have made it until they have their own tour bus, at least. Maybe one with a spacious lounge and comfortable bunks where he could actually fall asleep horizontally and a fridge stocked with all the cheap booze their underage hands can buy. He’d buy a car too, one that was too expensive and overly flashy, just because.

            “It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Liam says quietly.

            Zayn shrugs noncommittally. They’re both surprised by the sudden success, but not in the same way. Liam’s been wide-eyed and smiling ever since they got the news and he’s been utterly grateful, even when he has to drive seven hour shifts to cover his bandmate’s sleeping ass. His parents had waved him off with proud smiles as he climbed into the van. They’ve already called to check in on him. Twice.

            The black-haired boy wishes he could be so appreciative. See the things the way Liam sees them.

            Zayn’s grateful. Of course he is. Not many bands get the chance to open for a big act like The Functions. There’s a thousand other local bands in their area that are just like One Direction, playing shows to ten people on shitty instruments, but One Direction played the right venue on the right night. It was luck. It was sheer, dumb luck. The other guys don’t seem to get that. Their smiles, their excitement—they carry this undertone of pride, like they knew they could do it all along. They’re not anything special, Zayn wants to tell them. Yeah, they have good music, but it’s nothing that hasn’t been done before. They play well and sound good live, but so do tons of other bands. One Direction’s just been luckier. Lucky that The Functions’ tour manager happened to watch their set that night. Lucky that he had listened to their EP and liked it. Lucky that they got asked to be on the tour later that week.

            Liam’s phone buzzes in the cup holder and Zayn checks the screen for him. It’s a text from Harry.

            “Pull over at the next rest stop,” Zayn says. “Harry needs to take a leak.”

            “Sure. There’s one half a mile away, if he can hold it for that long,” Liam replies.

            “He’d better.” Bathrooms. Zayn mentally adds that to the list. He wants a tour bus with its own bathroom so they don’t have to keep pulling over every few hours and using sketchy gas station urinals.

            A few minutes, Liam pulls into the parking lot of a gas station and parks the van. Harry and Louis park in an adjacent spot and Zayn sees Harry walking quickly into the building.

             Liam stretches his arms, joints popping, as he says, “I’ll stay here. I don’t need to go.” There he goes again, that self-sacrificing fucker.

            “Neither do I,” Zayn lies. He does, actually, but he really doesn’t feel like moving.

            They sit in silence. It’s awkward. Zayn still feels odd and out of place. The other guys, they were all friends before they met Zayn. They’d all grew up in the same town, graduated from the same high school. He’d only known them for a year and only through some mutual friend of Harry’s who was trying to find One Direction a vocalist. Some out-of-town kid who could kind of carry a tune.

            He wonders if Harry, Liam, and Louis drew lots to see who’d be stuck driving with him. He wonders if Liam offered willingly.

            The brunette in the driver’s seat shifts. “You’re not happy about this.”

            “About what?” Zayn asks carefully.

            “I don’t know. About doing this tour, I guess.”

            Zayn pretends not to feel Liam’s curious stare and continues looking out the windshield. “I’m just not used to it. You know, travelling for so long. I get moody.” There’s no need to burden his bandmate with his thoughts.

            Liam nods, but Zayn can tell he’s not ready to let the subject drop. “Switch places with me. I’ll drive,” Zayn adds quickly and Liam looks mildly surprised, but he agrees. They unlock their seatbelts and Liam exits the van, reentering on the passenger side while Zayn clambers over the gear shift into the driver’s seat. Liam’s phone buzzes again—it’s Louis letting them know they can start driving again—and Zayn silently breathes a sigh of relief. There’s no pressure to make conversation when the van’s skimming over hot asphalt.

            The black-haired boy guides the vehicle out of the parking lot and onto the highway again. Less than a minute later, he hears Liam gently snoring over the humming of the engine. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope that wasn’t too painful to read, haha. It’s my first time writing fanfiction and I accidentally wrote “Louis” instead of “Liam” like 10 times so if there’s any mess-ups like that, let me know.


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